Unthinkable
by RipredtheGnawer
Summary: "He is hers. She is his. Anything else? Unthinkable." AU. Katniss/Gale. Hopefully not full of fluff, but rated T just in case. Formerly titled "If."
1. Chapter 1: Thanks

**A/N: My first real Katniss/Gale fanfiction! This is an AU, but it's mentioned in Mockingjay. Here's what the text says:**

**_I'm searching for some sign of the boy and girl who met by chance in the woods five years ago. Wondering what would have happened if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped into the woods with him and left Twelve behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the Capitol's help?_**

**Or something like that. Not exact, maybe, seeing as what I just typed was from memory.**

**Anyways, I hope you like it, and please review!  
**

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The girl watches desperately as the name is called. "Veronica Holly!" The crowd of teenagers breathes a sigh of relief, thankful that they are safe until next year. Except, of course, for Veronica Holly, an olive-skinned fifteen-year-old. She makes her way tremblingly to the stage where she is joined in a few minutes by a blonde boy named Peeta Mellark.

The watching girl looks over her shoulder and catches the eye of an older boy, who grins. She does not smile back.

* * *

The blonde boy, Peeta Mellark, sits hunched over in a plush chair. The door opens and the watching girl enters. Peeta Mellark looks up, his pale, terrified face flooding with color.

"Hello," the girl says uncertainly. Her gray eyes flit nervously around the room, as if looking for an escape. "I don't know if you remember me, but—"

"I do," the boy blurts, and then coughs self-consciously. "I mean, yeah, I know who you are."

"And I know you," the girl says, and looks Peeta Mellark right in the eyes. "I want to say thank you for the bread. You gave it to me five years ago. I-I don't know why. You didn't even know me, you still don't. And your mother hit you. Why? Why did you do it?" Her voice has grown louder but not harsh.

"You're thanking me for that?" The boy asks in disbelief, snorting despite the fear that is plain in his entire being. "All those years ago?" He hesitates as if deciding something, and then continues. "I don't let people starve in my own backyard, no matter what my mother thinks. It doesn't matter anymore, anyways." He sucks in a sharp breath as though he has been hurt. Judging by the look on his face, perhaps he has.

"I'm sorry," the girl murmurs. "I had to say it, though. I didn't want to – I mean, it's just—" She struggles for the words. "I didn't want you to think I wasn't grateful."

The two teenagers stand awkwardly, watching each other. The air has a tense feel, and an unidentifiable emotion passes between them. Then the girl looks away. "I said it," she mutters, as though convincing herself. Without a backward glance, she exits through the same doorway, her dark braid whipping out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2: Absolutely

**A/N: insanely long wait, I know, and I'm sorry. This is what I have to show for it, because I got halfway through and then was sidetracked by school and puppies and mothers. Today, I finally found it and completed it.**

**Please review, I'll love you forever!**

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The blonde boy screams in pain, his arm hanging by nothing but a few threads of flesh. The knives of the six other children cut at him, and he begs for mercy. Not for them to stop – he doesn't ask for that much, because he knows it would never be given. He holds his head as high as he can manage and asks for death.

"Kill me," he coughs out. "Just do it!" The Careers have no intention of acquiescing, but the blonde boy twists his face around to meet the mace that swings toward him. He falls back, his bloodied head thudding onto the ground with an awful finality. A cannon fires.

The girl, watching as always, stares at the television screen. She can't say she knew the boy, but that night in the rain bonded them together.

"Well, nothing to do but wait until next year," an olive-skinned, gray-eyed eighteen-year-old boy says weeks later, bitterly sarcastic, when the hulking girl from another district is removed from the arena accompanied by a lively sounding of trumpets.

The watching girl looks up at him, her eyes showing nothing but relief. "Right," she agrees hollowly. "We'll wait." What she doesn't say, because there's no point – because this boy knows her too well – is that she's ready to go. He can see it in her eyes, and she can see it in his. But there are things to take care of, affairs to set in order.

Someday they'll go. But for now, it's just as he's said. They'll wait.


	3. Chapter 3: Lake

**A/N: Dear readers... you must be so tired of hearing this, but I am _incredibly_ sorry for the wait.**

**I'm honest to a fault (no, I'm not) and I must say that this story completely slipped my mind for the past... let's see... eon.**

**But now that Gale's been cast, I've become smitten and this is the product of my obsession. The next update will be _soon_. You have my oath.**

**I have no clue why I'm so formal today, but I'm going to blame MCA testing.  
**

* * *

"I have something to show you," the watching girl says, pulling the boy's hand to tug him deeper into the woods. It's really not a fair description anymore – she is eighteen and he is twenty, both too old to be anything but a woman and a man. But the life in their eyes suggests that, to each other, they are still the same as they were six years ago.

She lets him go at the edge of a small lake where the forest opens onto a wide clearing. A little shack at the water's edge completes the scene.

"What's this?" the boy asks, taking it all in.

"Just a – a place," the girl says. "My father showed it to me, years back." She doesn't meet his eyes and this small detail seems to speak volumes to the boy.

"You didn't have to bring me here."

"I did," the girl argues. "We don't keep secrets from each other."

The boy looks at her, a strange look in his eyes. "You know that's not true. We both have things we haven't said."

"What is there left to say?" the girl asks, sighing. The summer's evening breeze carries her words away so that they're barely audible. She walks forward and slips off her shoes, standing barefoot up to her ankles in the cool water.

"Don't you know?" the boy asks, his voice unusually soft. His hand comes up to cup her face, and her surprise registers plainly on her face. "I love you," he says simply.

The girl lets out a startled laugh, olive skin darkening with embarrassment. The boy's gray eyes harden in hurt, and he withdraws slightly, but the girl catches his hand again, an apology on her lips.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I… I didn't expect…"

"It's all right," the boy says flatly. "I didn't expect you to." But his expression says otherwise.

"No, really," she says as he gathers up the game bag and sheath of arrows. She hands him his bow hopelessly, which he takes with deft hands.

"Just say it," he tells her, meeting her gaze squarely. "Whatever you need to say, spit it out."

The girl steps forward hesitantly, everything about her indicating uncertainty. She puts a hand on his face and, as slight as she is, rises onto her toes. "I love you too."

The girl's lips are on his, and so unexpectedly that it's a few moments before he kisses her back. The crackling tension of a few moments before has vanished entirely as they realize the truth of the world: He is hers. She is his. Anything else? Unthinkable.


	4. Chapter 4: Accident

**A/N: I, for one, can't believe that I've done this to Gale. But it's necessary. You'll see.**

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"Mining accident." It's all that's needed to send both the watching girl and her little sister into a panic. Neither of the girls is old enough to harvest coal yet, but the boy is, and the announcement is devastating.

The watching girl is out the door before the sirens have played for a single heartbeat. In the streets, she shoves through the crowds until she comes to the little house bursting with a family. She counts heads – one, two, three, four – but only four.

"Where is he? The Hob?" she asks the woman trying to herd her children to the square. "Please tell me he's at the Hob."

The woman shakes her head, tears beginning to slide down her face. "He's working."

The girl's eyes widen, and she's gone again. At the edge of the mines she clutches the rope as her mother did years before, all too aware of the horrible déjà vu. But now she understands the dread and despair, how it's nearly impossible to move and yet it kills to be motionless.

_Please let him live,_ she thinks, over and over again, a mantra that is the only thing keeping her sane. The elevators shoot up and down, up and down, vomiting soot-blackened miners into the light of day. First the uninjured, and he's not among them. There are so many trips up to the surface, and none carry the boy.

Then she sees him – one of the loads of injured. He pushes the men into the clean air and then, as she screams his name, descends once more.

"What's he doing?" the woman beside her asks, with the children huddled close. "Why?" Nobody has an answer. The only responses are sympathetic, pitying looks.

The day wears on and again and again he plays the hero, making sure the others are saved before he goes back to rescue more. He must hear, must know that the girl is watching and wondering, and so is his family, but he gives no sign of it.

The elevator has just dropped out of sight when a colossal explosion makes the girl's teeth rattle. She wails, so far beyond her normal featureless mask. The mine captain makes his way to them, face grave.

"I'm sorry," he says. "There's no way he could have survived that."

Even as he speaks, a roar rises from the crowd and everyone turns to look. The elevator has risen one final time, along with a cloud of smoke. As the doors creak open, black dust and gases billow out, and three workers stagger into the sunlight. The girl peers around the captain, searching desperately.

He's not there. A hollow deadness in the girl's chest tells her that it is over, that there is no hope. But one of the miners is saying something. The watching citizens fall quiet.

"He's in there!" the haggard insists. "He's hurt bad. He needs help!"

Two men hurry forward and are engulfed in the smoke still streaming from the elevator. The crowd waits with baited breath. Though most have never heard the boy's name or even seen him, today he's become almost a celebrity.

The relief is palpable as the men return, supporting a prone figure between them. The boy's clothes are torn and black, his skin is streaked with ash and sweat. Blood streams from a cut on his forehead. But worst of all is his right arm. It hangs at an awkward angle, bone poking out from the flesh, which is charred and blackened. It's barely even bleeding, it's that bad.

The girl makes a choked sound in her throat, half relief and half horror. She darts forward, the boy's mother right behind her, only to be pushed back by a world-weary woman with blond curls and an expression of extreme focus.

"Get the table ready," she tells the girl. "We'll be there soon."

"But, Mother-"

"Now."

With one last look at the boy, who has fallen unconscious, the girl turns and runs back to the house. She's never been comfortable around wounds, but this is different. This time he needs her, and, if she's honest, she knows that she needs him.

_Please let him live._


	5. Chapter 5: Prostrate

**A/N: The next chapter will likely have fluff, but don't hold me to that!**

* * *

The girl returns, closing the door quietly. She hurries over to the table, pale and anxious. Reaching into her game bag, she draws out a clump of plants.

"Is that enough?" she asks, handing them to her little sister, who looks as much like her as the sky does a dandelion.

"I don't know," the younger says. She hands the plants in turn to their mother, her movements tense yet graceful. She looks at the body prostrate on the table, and as she does, the watching girl feels her eyes drawn as well.

It is not a pretty sight. The boy lies there, bare-chested, wearing only his tattered trousers. His arm is stretched out to the side in a carefully cleaned area. The girls' mother has not done anything else, and stands gazing at the mess of flesh, bone, and ash.

"Mother? What are you going to d—" The watching girl's question is interrupted by a knock on the door. Opening it, the family from the square waiting outside rush in. They are already frequent visitors but this is not like other meetings.

"Ruth?" the boy's mother says. "Tell me: will he die?" The other woman turns and grasps the mother's shoulders, bracing herself to deliver the news.

"He may," she says. A whimper from the little eight-year-old makes her continue. "I can't save his arm. I need to amputate." At the look in the mother's eyes, she speaks more firmly. "He will die if I don't."


	6. Chapter 6: Knife

**A/N: I'm so sorry I'm doing this to you guys.**

* * *

The knife's blade gleams silver in the candlelight. The girl takes one look and feels sick. This is too much for her and she gratefully takes the younger children outside. Excepting her sister, of course, who is nearly as skilled as her mother.

Two boys and one little girl, all of them the miner's siblings, all of them too young to bear this. The little girl twirls dandelions through her fingers and it is enough to make the older one turn away. One of the boys, the twelve-year-old, is pacing, working off the energy provided by fear. His brother, sixteen, just sits there with the older girl, neither one speaking. There is no comfort in the silence.

After less than three minutes, the girl can stand it no longer. Leaving the second-oldest to look after the others, she runs inside. The stench of blood and dying flesh pervades the room. The boy has been unconscious for the past quarter hour, but now, under the first cut of the knife, he begins to wake.

The girl is at his side when the first moan escapes him. She doubts he understands what's happening, but she murmurs soothing words all the same. Brushes his hair from his forehead.

He makes a noise, a hoarse, cracked sound that is something like the girl's name. She hasn't looked at his arm the entire time but there is enough of a red gleam at the edge of her vision that she knows it's impossible to guess at his pain.

Time passes, punctuated by whispers from the girl and surpressed yells from the boy. There's a harsh grating noise and she knows they've reached bone. The boy's good hand grips hers so tight that she feels her own bones grinding together. His knuckles are as white as her face.

He is breathing hard, his face shining with sweat, and his eyes find the girl's face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispers, pressing her lips to the hand she holds. Nobody sees, and with a very final-sounding exhale, the boy's hand thuds down onto the table.

"No!"

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**A/N: Review, review, review! Tell me what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7: Arrangements

**A/N: I'm such a horrible person XD**

**I couldn't resist, you guys were so funny. I loved reading those reviews. Though I was a teensy bit disappointed that only two people (thanks, Lana & MountainAir) noticed that the story was marked "complete." Ehh, I don't blame you, I never look at that either, but I was hoping...**

**Anyways, here is the next chapter! Not as much fluff as I wanted but I'm sure that'll come later.**

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"…_Catnip_…"

The girl's there at his side with a glass of water the moment he speaks. She puts the cup to his lips and he drinks thirstily. The white bandages on his forehead form a pristine crown edged with black hair.

When the cup is empty she refills it, but he's had enough, turning his face away slightly. He looks up at her and there is such love in his eyes that her heart skips a beat, and she very nearly cries.

"Hey, hey," he rasps as her face pinches up to prevent the tears. "What brought this on? I'm fine…" Even as he speaks, they both know it's a lie, and his wince proves it.

She cups his face in her hand, hesitating. "You nearly died," she says finally. "Mother says your heart stopped." Each knows that the other is thinking of the patients the healer couldn't save, who died and never regained a pulse. "I don't know how she brought you back."

He reaches up to take her hand, holding it to his lips, dry with fever but cool from the water. "I couldn't leave you. You know that."

She nods. "I know." Her agreement is so quiet, like a breath of wind. "You're a hero, you know. All those men in the mines – you saved their lives."

His eyes darken, his expression clouds over, remembering. "My arm," he says slowly, warily.

She looks away, saying nothing. Her eyes are bright with tears, unusual for her, and that's what marks the seriousness of the situation.

"What happened?" He already knows, deep inside, but dreads to hear it said. He is delaying the inevitable. They both know it.

In answer, she peels back the blanket on the right side, revealing more bandages. But these are different. They do not cover an arm. Instead, they cover the truncated stump of what was once a working limb, what is now deadweight. The girl watches his face, which is carefully neutral as he surveys the injury. She knows him too well, though, to miss the flash of panic and fear in his eyes.

"I…" He hesitates, breathing deeply. "I won't be able to hunt." He looks up at her now, searching her face. "How will my family survive? Rory's not ready." It kills him to admit this glaring weakness.

"What are you talking about?" A small, breathy laugh escapes the girl, but there's no humor in it. "I'll hunt for both of us. I'll take care of them."

"Catnip." He holds her gaze. "That is the worst idea I've ever heard." His tone is simply matter-of-fact.

"I'll help."

Both look to the door, where the boy's younger brother – sixteen years old – stands listening. He moves forward shakily until he stands beside the girl. "I can handle it. You've taught me how to shoot." Despite his brave words, his voice shakes slightly. It's as the boy said: he is not ready.

"No way." Both of them speak at the same time. The girl continues, "It's dangerous out there."

"You've been hunting since you were twelve," the younger counters. "I'm four years older than that. You can't stop me."

"Give us a minute," the boy says, and his brother vanishes. He looks at the girl. "He's got a point, you know."

"I know _he_ can handle it," she says in a very, very quiet voice. "I just don't know if _you_ can."

"What's that supposed to mean? How could I not be able to handle sitting at home all the time?" It would be funny, how obviously false his cheery tone is, if the pain behind it weren't so palpable. "I can't wait."

"You know it," the girl reminds him. "You're like Ripper now. What will you do?"

"I will _not_ end up selling alcohol," the boy says determinedly. His eyes betray his uncertainty.

"No," the girl says softly. "Never." She sees his desperation, knows he fears the same as her, that he is too crippled to be anything but a liability. "We'll work something out. I promise."

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**A/N: Would you guys be terribly upset if I started adding in names here and there? Let me know in a review, please.**


	8. Chapter 8: Strawberries

**A/N: Hello, dears! Another update! I will not plead for reviews. Instead I'll beg you all to consider reading "My Dreams Smell of Roses" and then nominate it for Starvation Forum's Quarter Quell contest that starts May 1st. Please?**

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"Oh, Katniss. Hi." The mayor's daughter is not surprised to see only one figure on her back porch. Looking with a practiced eye at the strawberry bucket, she asks, "How is he?"

"Tired," the girl says honestly, "and angry."

"Why's that?"

"He doesn't like being helpless. Thinks it's tarnishing his reputation." She sighs, shaking her head. "He doesn't understand that he's valued more than ever after what he did." With an abrupt return to her business tone, she asks, "How many do you want?" with a nod towards the strawberries.

"Come on in. I need to get the money. I wasn't… well, I…" The mayor's daughter vanishes inside the house and the girl follows. In the kitchen, she leans against a counter while the mayor's daughter rummages in a cabinet.

"I know. You didn't think I'd be here today."

"Neither did I," says another voice, older and more authoritative. Both turn to see a middle-aged man, the mayor, with a hand on the doorknob. "It's nice to see you, Katniss. I'm sorry to hear about your friend. How is his arm?"

"Amputated," says the girl tersely. "But other than that he's fine, or, he will be."

"Mm," the man hums absently. He wanders away.

The mayor's daughter hands the girl five bronze coins. "Father wants to give him an award," she informs her. "For saving all those people."

"I'm sure that'll be wonderful," says the girl with only a hint of sarcasm. "When he's able to get up, that is."

"Oh! I forgot!" The mayor's daughter is darting up the stairs, returning within twenty seconds with a small box. She thrusts it at the girl. "Take it."

"What is it?" the girl asks, peeking under the lid.

"Morphling. From the Capitol." They are at the door now. "Use it."

The girl opens and closes her mouth, a fish out of water. "I-I don't know what to say," she stammers finally, completely thrown by this kindness. "Isn't this for your mother? Her headaches?"

"This isn't half of what we have," says the mayor's daughter. "They won't be missed, and besides, she's worried about him. She won't be angry."

"I can't pay for this, though. Strawberries can't make up for it."

"Katniss, you think I'd do that? I'm _giving_ this to you, not selling it."

"But-"

"See you next week!" The mayor's daughter shuts the door, not unkindly, and the girl stands there for a moment before heading towards home.

Halfway back to the boy and her sister and a plate of cooked squirrel, the girl's lips twitch in a smile. _She must really like strawberries._


	9. Chapter 9: Award

**A/N: I am so excited, Rue and Thresh are cast! Amandla Stenburg and Dayo Okeniyi, respectively. They both look _exactly_ as I imagined them! I could not be more pleased. And Elizabeth Banks (I think that's her name) is in talks for Effie. Not as happy with that, I'd rather have Kirstin Chenowith, but I think that's just wishful thinking at this point.**

**I'll probably be taking a break for a few days, I've been neglecting my other fanfictions for this one.**

**Oh yeah, and thanks to MountainAir for the idea for the next few chapters.  
**

**And now, dearies, here's your chapter! Es ist das neunte Kapitel!  
**

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"You don't have to go, you know," the girl says as the boy struggles to lace up his boots with his left hand.

"Yes, in fact, I do. I won't stay in that blasted bed another minute." The boy meets her gaze with a challenge in his own.

"Oh, here. I'll do it." The girl deftly ties his boots and straightens up. "You're sure? Don't tell me you actually _want_ the award."

"Of course not," scoffs the boy, getting to his feet. "What I want is my arm, but I'm not getting that. So I might as well start walking around again as soon as possible. Even if I won't hunt anymore, I'll need to go places. 'S probably a good idea to practice, don't you think?"

The girl says nothing, just follows as he pushes the door open with his right shoulder and picks up a strip of dried meat with the other. By the way it rests in his hand, it's clearly too hard to chew. He tosses it to a tawny-yellow shape in the corner, which hisses appreciation.

"He'll be begging scraps from me for days," grumbles the girl. Seeing the ghost of a smile on the boy's face, she adds, "and never mind the mice he catches. He'll spit them out all over the floor just to make his point."

"I know," says the boy cheerfully. "That's why I did it. You need to lighten up."

"Hark who's talking. _I_ didn't get my arm hacked off."

It's a mark of the deep bond between the two that there are no hard feelings over this immediately regretted lack of tact. They walk in companionable silence to the Justice Building in the town square, getting sympathetic looks from passersby.

Inside, a sizeable crowd has gathered. The boy's family and the girl's, as well as several of their customers and nearly all of the miners. They are respectful, almost deferent towards the young man who walks forward to the stage.

"Mr. Gale Hawthorne," says a man behind the podium. His surgically perfected features and dashing suit identify him immediately as a Capitol citizen. A lengthy speech follows, eulogizing the boy's talents and his bravery in the mines. "On behalf of District 12, we present you with an award for courage and selflessness."

The girl stifles an indignant cough, and the boy's eyes flash anger. How can a Capitol man, born and raised on the deaths of their District's children, award a medal "on behalf" of something he has never been a part of? "On behalf" of something which he obviously abhors? But he is not finished yet.

"As an additional reward for saving countless lives, President Coriolanus Snow has offered you a prosthetic arm. Should you accept, a hovercraft will transport you to the Capitol and back, before and after the surgery."

A gasp rises from the crowd, hushed mutterings filling the hall like a swarm of amazed bees. All of those assembled lean forward in their seats, waiting, waiting.

"I would be honored," says the boy, a trace of sarcasm in his tone. Nobody but the girl even hears its prescence.

Later, the boy kisses the girl good-bye, out of sight of their families, and boards the waiting hovercraft, his threadbare clothes looking out of place against the polished metal and chrome. He stands at the window, watching his home vanish as he ascends into the clouds. The little girl braids daisies. His brothers watch with slight envy. Both mothers wave, one blows kisses. The sister smiles.

But the girl – she presses three fingers to her lips and then holds them out to him. The funeral gesture. And then the boy wonders why he's going to the Capitol, if he hates it so much?


	10. Chapter 10: AWOL

**A/N: Okay, that's officially the longest time I've gone without updating a certain story. Gosh. I can't believe it. Thank you to Analyn Ruse for reminding me to get off of my lazy butt and _write something_. Even if it's super short. Next one will definitely be longer...probably?**

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"You have to draw the string back to your ear," the girl says, "and find your target, and _then_ you can let it go. Not before." She demonstrates, sending an arrow thudding into the trunk of a maple twenty yards away. "Your shot will be stronger. Here, you try." She holds the bow out to the boy, the spitting image of his older brother—but now with one more limb.

The boy carefully takes the weapon, marveling at its simple beauty. Brow furrowed in concentration, he nocks the bow and draws the string. His shoulders are tense. Another arrow _zings_ across the clearing and clatters off a rock.

"That was much better." There's genuine praise in the girl's voice as she retrieves it.

"But not good enough," says the boy. He frowns at the bow. "We haven't caught anything."

"Of course not," says the girl sensibly. "We're talking. No squirrel's _that_ stupid." She shows him something like a smile and retrieves both arrows, keeping her back straight through sheer force of will. It's anything but easy for her to teach this boy to hunt, something his brother will never do again.


End file.
